The One At The Doctors

It’s ages since I’ve been to a doctor’s surgery, years even; I think the last time might have been 2003 when I had to get a ridiculous amount of inoculations to ward off Japanese Tetsi-Fly Flesh-Eating Syndrome (was it?) during my round the world travels. To everywhere but Japan.

I made an appointment at the local health centre this morning to get a diagnosis of why my left foot has been hurting so much recently and, as is the norm whenever I visit a doctor, the ailment for which I’ve made the appointment is nowhere to be seen (or felt) when I arrive. However, I’m glad to see from the list in the waiting room that my doctor has a degree in sports medicine so I have half a chance of avoiding the usual “drink plenty liquids and keep it elevated” retort.

Doc: “Morning. What seems to be the trouble then?”
Neil: “Well… I’ve been doing a bit of running lately in preparation for the London Marathon next year…” did he narrowly avoid spitting his cup of tea all over his desk just then? “…and I’m getting these sharp, shooting, agonising pains in my left foot. I’m wondering whether I might have cracked a little bone and I really think I should could get an x-ray because I’m just about to ask people to sponsor me and I want a proper diagnosis so that I can actually complete this madness and, and…”
Doc: “Right, first things first. You’re not the lightest of runners are you?”
Neil: “Well.. I..”
Doc: “Do you have the proper running shoes?”
Neil: “Em.. yeah, I do NOW but up until Sunday I was just using my crappy old trainers.”
Doc *rolls eyes*: “Right, let’s see the foot then.” He prods and pokes and taps and squeezes without causing the merest hint of pain. “Well, I’m pretty sure nothing’s broken here.”
Neil: “But I should still get an x-ray to know for sure, right?”
Doc: “Less than 20% of foot stress fractures show up on an x-ray so no, I wouldn’t recommend that. But here’s the telephone number of the Edinburgh University Sports Injury Clinic if you want to pay for a full biomechanical assessment.”
Neil: “They can rebuild me and give me a bionic foot?”
Doc: “No. But they’ll make sure you’re running properly with the correct shoes and not doing anything untoward to cause this pain. Personally, I think your body’s just reacting to the shock of dealing with something new and unfamiliar. Have you thought about doing more cross training?”
Neil: “Running angry you mean?”
Doc: “No. I mean cycling or anything which gives you a similar workout without putting heavy pressure on your foot. Have you ever been to a gym?”
Neil: “Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha, oh that’s a good one Doc… I was once IN THE VICINITY of a gym; passed it on the way to the office so, yeah!”
Doc: “Well, give it some thought, see how your new running shoes work out and if the problem persists, definitely call that number I gave you... not here you understand, the number in EDINBURGH. Okay?”
Neil: “Thanks Doc, I will.”

At this point, he didn’t appear to be reaching into his desk to give me a lollipop so I took that as my cue to leave and affected my famous little Keizer Soze limp to take me to the door. Join a gym… ha ha ha ha ha, aye right!

The One With The New Shoes

I got a call from the running store on Boxing Day informing me that the shoes I ordered (“freakishly extra wide” for “special” runners) had arrived, so this morning I went to collect them. And here they are. Pretty, huh? I was a bit disappointed they didn't have flashing lights or wheels in the heels but how cool is the personalised initial on the side?

As I tried them on, they seemed to gently and seductively wrap around my feet and I devoured the explanatory blurb on the box in an effort to discover more…

“Comfortable and cushioned training shoe constructed for the neutral runner seeking a responsive ride. (Yeah baby!) The interior PHANTOM LINER and lightweight mesh upper will keep your feet feeling great as you run the miles. With our patented padding technology of Baby Pandas & Angel Tears™, blisters are a thing of the past and you’ll never feel any pain anywhere ever again.”

Okay, the last sentence isn’t entirely true (I still get the odd blister) but from the first moment the young oik assistant let me try them out on the store treadmill, I knew this was the beginning of a beautiful relationship. Let’s just hope the doctor doesn’t tell me my foot is already broken when I go and see him on Tuesday.

The One On Christmas Day

Remember last year when I said there’s no better place to be on Christmas Day than St. Andrews? Well there isn’t, and I’m back here again, this time with all my siblings, partners and children (the partners and children of my siblings, that is… not mine... 'cause they're back at the kibbutz) and at 8am this morning I was down at the West Sands with chipper twins Rona and Keith to go for a run. I had a brief jog yesterday afternoon when I was “working from home” and felt no ill effects in my left foot so naturally assumed that my body had simply cured itself and one more run in my shitty old trainers would do me no further harm. I was wrong.

Two thirds of the way to the far end of the sands, the foot-throbbing was back and I had to stop and watch the twinnies run effortlessly into the distance. I hobbled about for a while hoping the pain would just disappear miraculously (why does healing take so long?) and occasionally clutched a fencepost for support, pretending I was doing a bit of stretching for any passing dog-walkers who might have given a shit.

Eventually the twinnies reappeared on the horizon and seemed to be coming back at quite a sprint so I knew it wouldn’t be long before I’d have to suck it up and start jogging again to try and convey the impression that stepping onto the first rung of running competence might be somewhere in my immediate future. And here’s where I learned some invaluable lessons about marathon training.

(i) When you are in agonising pain, STOP f#cking running.
(ii) If you think running a marathon is a “race”, you better be training for the Olypmics.
(iii) Leave your ego at home on the mantelpiece (alongside the dignity you discarded when you chose the saggy-assed jogging pants) because no good can come from trying to keep up with runners who are fitter and more experienced than you.
(iv) See rule (i)

Anyway, the rest of the day in St. Andrews was gorgeous in every respect, despite me not being able to run and catch a two year-old in the park before dinner, and my secret Santa got me a lovely long-sleeved, skin tight, base layer running top which accentuates every single small ripple of your muscles and six-pack / spare-tyre ‘cuddly’ bits*. I’d post a photo of me modelling it but I’m sure you’ve just finished your turkey and stuffing and I wouldn’t want you to see your Christmas dinner consumption in reverse.

*delete as appropriate

The One With Gillian Anderson Part 2

It's been a week now since my left foot sustained the LIFE THREATENING INJURY that might just mean I have to give up this RIDICULOUS MARATHON ENDEAVOUR and go off and smoke a nice cigarette instead. But after four days of no-one taking any notice whatsoever of me curled up in the corner whimpering for sympathy and attention, I decided it might be best to remove the fake intravenous drip and go back to something productive. Like dreaming about Gillian Anderson in lycra.

Ever since I gave up smoking and began this exercise lark, I’ve had a lot of trouble sleeping. I’ve had no trouble getting to sleep (especially with the latest Stephen Hawking “page-turner” by my bedside) but my body, and especially my brain, seems to want to operate in sleep shifts of four hours maximum and wakes me up unexpectedly with scant respect for how I might feel about the situation. This morning, for instance, I was awake (and I mean WIDE awake) at 4am, which was especially annoying because only moments before, Gillian Anderson had started revealing the top of her left thigh to show me her new tattoo before the Sweet-Effin-Jesus-Will-You-PUH-LEASE-Let-Me-Finish-Just-One-Dream alarm clock kicked in.

It’s gonna be another week till my foot feels pain-free enough to pound the streets again. If only I could find suitable, calorie-burning exercise to do at four in the morning.

The One At Lunchtime

Some of the running articles I’ve been reading advocate finding a training partner. They say stuff like “Enlist the help of a friend,” in a tone that’s just a little too cheery for my liking before underlining that, “this is great for companionship or for the rivalry, or for both!” I’m sorry, “companionship”? Isn’t that something for sad middle-aged, singletons who spend weekends huddled by the fire, wrapped up in patchwork shawls, supping a hearty broth of winter vegetables, when they articulate the relationship they have with ALL 15 OF THEIR CATS? Well I can assure you sir that is not me because I do not, repeat NOT, own a shawl. Not a patchwork one anyway.

Anyway, like a cow’s opinion, it’s a moo point because I prefer to run on my own so I can…

a) go at my own pace.
b) stop whenever I want / cough up a lung, whichever comes first.
c) run in quiet areas where my saggy-assed, cotton jogging pants won’t be subject to a lot of finger-pointing and ridicule… Nike-clad 5 year-olds can be so cruel.

But yesterday I bucked that trend when valued work colleague Eric B (seen here with pal Rakim during the time of their successful hip hop revolution in the mid 80s) persuaded me to go jogging with him at lunchtime. This was more than a little daunting and embarrassing for me, not only because Eric is very fit and attends the gym regularly, but because my own hip hop revolution dissolved and died somewhat in 1988 after the release of the much misunderstood “Stickin’ It To The Gangsta Hamster” album.

However, I needn’t have worried. Eric was polite enough not to mention the 1980s and instead educated me in the importance of “stretching”, a process by which the muscles in your legs should be warmed up and then “stretched” (hence the name) to prevent injury and ensure longer lasting muscle freshness. Who knew?

The other thing I learned during our 40 minute excursion is that when you’re very fit, you can run and talk AT THE SAME TIME. This is an astonishing feat to me and one which currently, I have zero ability to perform but Eric gets through a mind-boggling myriad of topics, from Gaza to Gazza, whilst I can only retort with the odd thumbs-up (or down) coupled with a barely audible, “Muth… Effin… Hol… Swee… Eff… Chr… Jes... stard!”

It was my toughest workout so far in this ridiculous venture but I felt great, if a little sleepy, for the rest of yesterday afternoon. By the evening I was grateful for a comfortable seat at the SECC to see Coldplay live in concert. And by 10am this morning I could barely f#cking walk from the indescribable waves of pain shooting up through my left foot.

Oh f#ck!

The One At The Running Store Part 2

It’s my wee sister Rona’s 40th birthday today and she’s in Scotland for a few days so we arrange to meet at ‘Run 4 It’ on Lothian Road so we can spend three quality hours debating lycra v supercotton and compression vest v base layer. Actually, that’s not quite true; in reality, we arrange to meet at Starbucks for large coffees and sticky buns and ‘Run 4 It’ just happens to be across the road.

But this is fortuitous because I’ve finally decided to abandon my initial, run-in-any-old-shitty-trainers-and-hope-for-the-best strategy and get something more appropriate instead. Unlike last time, I am well armed with all the right information when a different sales assistant approaches…

Sales Assistant: “Good morning sir. Lovely day.”
Neil: “It certainly is young man, aren’t you a strapping lad. Now see here… I’m running the London Marathon next year and require a new pair of running shoes with a neutrallie gaitness and a 2E width for my freakishly-wide feet. Can you show me please what you have in a size 8?”

I think the young oik must have had a wee touch of the cold because he made a sort of stifled snorting sound before disappearing through to the back of the shop. Alas, like last time, none of the shoes in stock were of the required width so he agreed to order them, promising a pre-Christmas delivery. For now then, I shall revert to my initial shitty-old-trainers strategy which I’m still convinced will be absolutely no problem whatsoever.

The One Where I Finally Remembered The iPod

Last year I received a lovely little iPod Shuffle as a gift for being the World’s Best Best Man™ and it really is the perfect size and level of technology for my limited attention span and level of technological kno… um… sorry, I drifted off there for a second.

Rona told me that her iPod was a Godsend when she started training in January but as yet, I’ve always managed to forget to take mine out with me when I go running, probably because of my limited attention sp...

Anyway, today I had it in the office and took it with me at lunchtime when I jogged down to the Gyle shopping mall (probably a mile and a half away) to buy a birthday present for Rona. On the way down, the weather was overcast but dry (“with an outside chance of precipitation”, as Heather on TV would say) and I enjoyed a selection of fine rocking tunes which definitely seemed to put the slightest of springs in my step. However, when I emerged from Marks & Spencer after 15 minutes of shopping, the heavens had opened and it was “p#ssing it down big style like an elephant with a bladder control problem”, as Heather probably wouldn’t say.

The first two minutes of running in the rain were truly miserable but remarkably, after I was as wet as I could get, it was actually quite refreshing and, dare I say it without sounding like a complete running w#nker, slightly spiritually uplifting.

Now I’m no scientist (certainly not since the funding for my ambitious TWIPAS – Turn Woman Into Pizza After Sex – Project was withdrawn by Congress following allegations of “playing God”) but there’s something chemical going in your body when you run. (probably all the little numskulls in the left hand side of my brain screaming “WHAT THE F#CK?” to the ones in the right – see Fig. A below) and it must make your emotions rise very close to the surface. Get the wrong song on your iPod and you could, I would imagine, quite easily find yourself bawling like Kate Winslet at the Golden Globes… were she to somehow win two awards on the same night… when the ceremony takes place in five weeks time!?!

Anyway, not that this happened to me or anything, but let’s just say that for safety’s sake, Sarah Mclachlan’s “When She Loved Me” from the ‘Toy Story 2’ soundtrack is now safely stored back out of harm’s way on iTunes.